Cross-Checked (18 page)

Chapter Nine

“Here we are,” Brick’s voice invaded my stupor.

I opened my eyes. I’d been vaguely aware of the engine shutting off, it had entered my head like part of a dream the same way the crunch of tires on gravel had filtered into my slumbered brain.

“Is this it?” I asked in a hoarse voice, yawning.

“Yep, my little pad for escaping the craziness of life.” He looked out the window, letting out a yawn of his own.

I followed his gaze. Long shadows stretched across the fir-lined driveway to a timber house silhouetted by the setting sun. Several steps led to a wide wooden door with a huge arched window above. Rows of dark windows stretched to the right and between each were lavish hanging baskets filled with red and white flowers.

“We got here quicker than I thought we would,” I said.

“For you, maybe.” He grinned at me.

“Sorry, I wasn’t much company, was I?”

He shrugged. “I knew you’d sleep the whole way and it will have done you good.”

I rubbed my hand over my bandaged wrist. It was out of the sling now and I’d been told using it a little would be good for healing. But it still hurt like crazy when the painkillers began to wear off, which was now. “I should have stayed awake and ‘entertained you with my wit’.”

“I’m a big boy, I can cope with a little driving.” He opened his door and an evening breeze coated in the scent of pine needles trickled in. “Besides, it’s not often I get to take this beast for a good long run.”

He jumped out and strode around the front of the car. He opened my door and gingerly I stepped out onto the bed of small stones. My feet sank and I held on to the car door for support. I felt as if I were standing on water.

Brick, in one swift movement, swung me up into his arms and pressed me against his chest.

“Hey,” I said, holding my wrist safely against my body. “Put me down.”

“Why? You look kind of wobbly, like you might topple over.”

“Put me the hell down, Brick.” Who did he think he was, scooping me up as if I were a doll he could carry about? I hadn’t asked him to, I didn’t want him to.

He started walking toward the house, his big strides making short work of the distance.

“If you don’t put me down I’ll”

“What, scream?” He huffed with amusement. “Who’s gonna hear you? We’re in the middle of nowhere.”

“No, but I won’t speak to you for the whole week.” I kicked my legs like a petulant child but he just held me tighter in his thick arms. “Put me down, for god’s sake.”

“Okay,” he said, depositing me on the top step, right in front of the door. “There, you’re down.”

“That doesn’t count.” I frowned, reaching for the doorframe to stop my body swaying. “I’m here now.”

“Oh stop being so independent,” he said, shoving a key in the lock. “It makes your face wrinkle.” He chuckled and pushed open the door.

I didn’t even bother looking inside. “Wrinkle—it does not.”

“Oh I’ve noticed it does when you need to have someone help you.”

“I don’t need help and just because you’re a damn caveman and think you can throw me over your shoulder and carry me about doesn’t mean you should. I’m surprised they don’t call you Ug instead of Brick.”

He gave a deep rumble of laughter. “But I
want
to lift you about, so why not?”

“Because…” I pushed past him into the lodge on my pathetically wobbly legs. “It’s an abuse of muscle, that’s what it is.”

He grunted something I didn’t catch and I heard his feet on the gravel, heading back to the car.

My head throbbed as I looked around. The vast vaulted ceiling was spanned with thick crossbeams. There were enormous glass windows at the far end and a double central door looking out over an endless lake that shimmered in the evening light. Low L-shaped sofas were positioned to make the most of the view and an enormous stone fireplace stacked with logs sat waiting to be brought to life.

The throbbing in my head picked up to a keener tempo to match the thumping pain in my wrist. I sighed and rubbed at my temples. I needed to sit down. I’d been sitting for hours, but I needed to sit down again. I needed painkillers.

“You okay?” Brick was behind me again.

“Yes, I’m fine, quit fussing.”

The door slammed shut and as the sound pierced my skull I turned to him with a scowl.

“What?” He balanced our bags as he toed off his sneakers and kicked them toward a half-full shoe rack.

“Why are you being so noisy?”

“I’m not.”

“You are.”

“Well, you’re being cranky.” He gave a crooked smile.

I tutted and threw him a frown that I knew made my face crinkle. “Where’s
my
bedroom?” I asked.

He paused for a second and something flashed through his eyes, then, in a quiet voice he said, “This way.”

I followed him through a large oak door. He dropped my bag next to an enormous white bed and walked out of the room without another word.

He shut the door with a firm click.

I sighed and looked around. In the corner was a huge free-standing oak wardrobe covered in wood knots, with antlers overhead. There was a cream two-seater crammed with furry cushions and angled to look out the window over the lake. On either side of the bed stood dressers with tall, elegant silver lamps. To my right was a doorway, through which I could see a neat white en suite stocked with towels and toiletries.

I sat heavily on the bed, pulled out my painkillers and a bottle of water from my purse. Knocked them back in one quick mouthful as if I’d done it every day of my life and glanced at the clock. Twenty minutes and it would feel easier. Twenty minutes and I wouldn’t be so cranky. Twenty minutes and the pain would be bearable.

I managed a quick wash, pulled on a baggy t-shirt and climbed under the cool sheets to wait for the tablets to do their job. I stared out the window at the rapidly fading light. A few birds darted around, or perhaps they were bats, I wasn’t sure.

The trees became a dense blackness as the sun slipped behind them—just their tips sharp against the violet and purple sky, nature’s own skyscrapers. I felt my eyes getting heavy and my mind drifted. An owl hooted. The pain in my wrist became a dull ache and I relaxed it from my chest and let it lay on the sheet at my side.

My eyelids closed. I pulled in a deep breath and reveled in the absence of a headache.

Just five minutes, then I’d get up and apologize to Brick for being so bad tempered. Five minutes enjoying the bliss of not hurting and then I’d make it up to him for being such a bad patient. He’d had a long drive and I’d just been horrid to him. He deserved better than that.

Suddenly I was there again.

On the road.

The truck’s wheel, huge, grimy, spinning only inches from me. My throat tightened, adrenaline spurted into my system. I was out of control, flying through the air, higher and higher. I wasn’t coming down, the truck had spun me upward. I was surrounded by nothing, even my bike wasn’t with me.

I let out a scream, flailed my arms and kicked my legs. I was out of control.

I was traveling sky-bound. Faster, higher. The ground was so far below me. The truck a tiny dot. I could see the road, straight and hard, and a winding river, swamps, houses, the roof of a warehouse.

I screamed again. Reached out to grab something, anything. I was so high up. Terror gripped me, my stomach somersaulted. My hands found purchase—hot, hard skin.

“Carly, Carly, shh, honey, it’s okay.”

I was aware of tears on my cheeks, running into my ears and onto my lips. The ground was so far away. I was nauseous with fear as tears slipped around the sides of my nose.

“Carly, wake up.”

It was Brick’s deep voice, he was here with me. We were spiraling upward together, soon we’d be in space, orbiting the planet.

I felt his arms around me, firm and solid. I could smell him, spiced and familiar.

“Shh,” he soothed into my ear. His breath was warm, warm and comforting. “Shh, honey, it’s okay, I’ve got you.”

My whole body jerked as I jumped within my own skin. I gasped and became aware of the bed beneath me, of Brick holding me tight. I was down again. Back on solid ground. My heart felt as though it was going to burst from my chest.

He stroked my hair. “It’s okay, I’ve got you, you’re safe,” he murmured. “I’ve got you, it’s just a dream.”

The tears kept coming, harder and harder. It felt as if my ribs would crack, I sobbed so violently. But he kept on holding me and whispering into my ear. I nuzzled farther into his chest and let it keep coming out, all the fears, the flights, heights and losing. Losing him. The exhaustion of the uphill struggle to get what I wanted all the time. To be perfect, to be independent, to make myself what everyone wanted me to be. All the emotions burst their banks in one torrid flood.

His body was stretched against mine, solid and steady. Gradually my gasping sobs turned into quiet, pathetic sniffs. I was done, beaten up by dreams and demands, frights and fears.

“I’m sorry,” I said into his chest, feeling utterly weak and exposed for the first time in my life.

“Don’t be.” He pressed his lips to my clammy forehead.

“I was horrid to you earlier.”

“You were,” he said.

“I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.” He’d never want me now. I had been so horrible to him. He would be counting the hours until he could leave the blubbering, weak, cranky woman back on her doorstep in Richmond Hills. I’d ruined everything. After all we’d been through it was over.

“Would you like a drink?” he asked.

“No, no please, just stay here, don’t leave me.” I pressed into him all the more. I would take what I could while I could. He’d probably pay a nurse to arrive tomorrow and look after me the rest of the week. Hotfoot it back to Orlando as fast as he could and find a woman who was in complete control of every aspect of her life.

* * * * *

I woke pressed up against Brick and instantly my chest swelled with relief.

His breathing was slow and steady and his mouth slightly parted. I rested my palm over his chest and felt the solid rhythm of his heartbeat. He had a big heart, it matched him—big all over, inside and out. He’d held me last night as if he really cared, as if he was genuinely worried about me, even though I’d been so horrid to him. I’d be grateful for that when he left later. I’d be grateful for that for the rest of my life.

He let out a sigh and I studied the way the morning sun etched across his face and created shadows in the slight dip beneath his cheekbones. He was soul-achingly beautiful. So much more gorgeous in real life than on posters or on TV.

“You watchin’ me sleep?” he asked, opening his eyes.

“Yes.”

“Was I snoring?”

“No.”

“You gonna be cranky today?” He gave me a sleepy, lopsided grin.

“I’m really sorry about that and no, I don’t think so.” I realized I’d placed my injured wrist on his chest and moved it without wincing, without noticing a throb as soon as I tensed the tendons and muscles. And my head, it felt almost normal, although I hadn’t actually lifted it off the pillow yet. “I think I feel a bit better.”

“A good cry,” he said. “It sorted you out.”

I frowned. “It did not.” I’d hoped it wouldn’t be mentioned again, my overwhelming display of weakness.

“Hey, I thought you just said you weren’t going to be cranky.”

“Sorry,” I sighed.

“I’ll go make coffee,” he said, getting up. He still had his jeans on. “You take your painkillers and hold on to those cleansed thoughts.”

I opened my mouth to speak. What was he? Some kind of psychobabble guru? Cleansed thoughts indeed. But I shut my mouth again. I didn’t want to be cranky, not if he was leaving soon.

I sipped hot, strong coffee and took my painkillers, then moved around the room on legs that felt almost like mine. My right thigh was bruised and shaky, but other than that I was definitely more like myself.

I managed a shower with a plastic bag over my hand and wrist because I’d been told not to get the dressing wet, pulled on gray sweats and a small red t-shirt. Scraped my hair into a high ponytail and let it swing down past my shoulder blades. I brushed my teeth and looked at my reflection. I was paler than usual, but my eyes looked clearer, I’d lost the glazed look from the days before.

I wandered into the kitchen.

Brick was nowhere to be seen. My heart lurched. Perhaps he’d left already. Gone while I was in the shower so I wouldn’t hear the crunch of tires on gravel. I scanned the work surfaces for a note, looked at the big fridge door for a magnetically held message of departure. Nothing. A horrid, sick feeling washed over me and my throat tightened. I glanced out the doors flung open to the fresh forest air.

The fluttering in my chest slowed. The nausea subsided.

Sitting at the end of a long, narrow pier, his legs dangling over the edge, was Brick.

He was shirtless, his golden shoulders hunched as he dipped into a small green box at his side.

I grabbed a banana and stepped out into the late-morning sunshine.

He was still here. Thank god.

Trying to peel the banana hurt my wrist. I couldn’t get enough grip or maneuver my fingers on my bad hand.

Stepping carefully onto the heat-bleached wooden slats, I began to make my way down the pier toward him. The sun spread like silk on my shoulders and the gentle lapping of the waves beneath me created a peaceful melody.

“Hey,” I said when I reached the end.

He looked up from a bundle of feathers and hooks.

“Hey yourself.” He smiled.

“Can you do this for me?” I handed him the banana.

He grinned and took it.

I sat down next to him, legs hanging over the edge, and squinted at the sun’s reflection bouncing off the water.

“Here.” He handed it back.

For the first time in days I felt genuinely hungry and I bit into the banana eagerly.

“This is called a merry boatman,” he said, carefully winding wire onto a selection of yellow and blue feathers.

“A what?”

“A merry boatman, it’s a fly, should attract some of the bigger fish from the bottom of the lake.”